OttawaCitizen- The video — since taken down — appears to have been shot in Phoenix on Oct. 29 or 30 during the team’s western road swing. It was recorded, presumably by the Uber driver, as seven Senators were transported in a van or SUV. It appears that none of the players were aware the conversation was being recorded.
-------- Term of the hour: Self-fulfilling prophecy- Any positive or negative expectation about circumstances, events, or people that may affect a person's behavior toward them in a manner that causes those expectations to be fulfilled. An employer who, for example, expects the employees to be disloyal and shirkers, will likely treat them in a way that will elicit the very response he or she expects. (h/t BusinessDictionary) -------- Welp, pretty sure that's not why they call it a rideshare. Now, I don't want to get too much into how much of a rat you have to be to publicly disseminate a video in which you unknowingly recorded people that rendered your services as they did what literally everyone does by roasting their bosses and co-workers behind their back. Seriously, if you've never talked shit about someone you work either with or for then two things are true. One being that you are undoubtedly the person everyone else is talking shit about, and two being that you've never operated under Eugene Melnyk. Therefore, this Uber driver isn't just a special kind of snake for abusing a safety precaution in the shameless search for supplementary income, but he's also more than likely a massively disingenuous hypocrite. However, let's also make one thing clear, while this could technically happen to anyone, who it did actually happen to is about the furthest thing from a surprise. Maybe not directly, but the dysfunction and distrust that exists throughout the Ottawa Senators' organization definitely indirectly enabled some random Uber driver in the desert to introduce even more dissension into a lacerated NHL locker room from well across the border. To put it simply, anyone that knows anything about hockey has, relatively recently, trashed the Senators as a franchise, so why would those whose professional careers are now anchored to its ineptitude be any different? This is obviously not a great look for the players involved, especially since most of them are new to the systematic stupidity. However, in my opinion, it's an even worse look for a front office/coaching staff whose "efforts" prompted a group of good-looking professional athletes in their 20's to waste time during a night out discussing a stagnated system and a pulverized penalty kill. Honesty typically rears its ugly head when the camera stops, but if those it's aimed at never know it's rolling in the first place then you can be pretty certain that what you're getting is the truth. If you watched even one chapter of the Erik Karlsson drama play out then you shouldn't have even needed to take a look behind the proverbial curtain to know that it might hurt.
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815. Prior to last night, that's the amount of times Brian Boyle had stepped on NHL ice for a meaningful game as the type of big man who is expected to create room for the scorers as opposed to doing a heck of a lot of it himself, before later leaving it having not tallied at least three goals on the afternoon or evening. There was really no inclination that 816 was going to be much different, except for the fact that he was already living proof that sports have this weird way of making absolutely no sense by finding the perfect times to make all the sense in the world...
I don't want to imply that this is some sort of Angels On The Ice situation, as Brian Boyle was simply rewarded for doing the type of dirty work that's helped him find his niche in a younger, faster NHL the last few seasons. However, there's just something surreal and cinematic about that reward coming in the form of his first career hat trick on a night devoted to the ongoing battle against the deadly disease he recently sent packing into remission. It's only right for Brian Boyle to be on the front lines as Hockey Fights Cancer, but the odds of him fully flexing his muscles on the scoresheet while his strength as a person was on everyone's brain are only reasonable if you see them as slightly fixed by fate. On a night where the 4th line showed out in a desperately needed dominant win over a quality team, it's heart and soul put forth a performance to remember. Not that we'd ever forget what he and others like him has been through in trying to kick cancer's ass, but it's tough not to be inspired by someone delivering it a knockout punch by repeatedly lighting the goal light at the end of the tunnel. ----- As for the game itself, a lot to like. Just as the whispers regarding Will Butcher's scoring slump and possession struggles were starting to pick up some volume he almost instantly silenced them, and the Devils finally cruised to a comfortable victory in a building other than their own. I can't say that the 4th line putting up a bunch of points in the process was a direct result of Kurtis Gabriel not being on it, but I'll settle for it being a reason that he's never, ever on it again. Regardless, it was a solid team win ahead of a second half of a back-to-back that provides them plenty of opportunity to build on it, assuming they kick the nasty habit of playing down to their less intimidating competition.
I know the main takeaway from this abjectly preposterous visual should be "hey, Jimmy Butler is kind of a huge asshole, huh?". Unfortunately, we already knew that just as well as he did when he intentionally took his attempt at tormenting the Timberwolves into trading him to the next level by celebrating his own team's loss while seated amongst them. That's why I am instead left wondering how not one person on that bench lifted even a "check please"-esque finger as he did one of the top 5-7 most disrespectful things you can do to another human being. When you whip a towel inches from the face of other people, you're essentially refusing to acknowledge them as living entities who are deserving of personal space, never mind doing so when those people happen to be the same people whose failures you're fawning over. That's why I can't help but think that Jimmy Butler's latest attempt at the upping the ante in his emasculation of an NBA organization says more about said organization than it does him. At this rate, NYE will come and go and the ball will drop before those of any of his teammates' do. Like, how much of a jerk-off does one have to be to coax pride out of a group of professional athletes? Don't get me wrong, I'm thoroughly enjoying the process of finding out, but I'm pretty sure I'm only speaking for myself and literally everyone else who has no financial or emotional investment in the success of the Minnesota Timberwolves. At some point they have to put up a fight, but if you let someone repeatedly whisk wind alongside your face as if they are pleased with watching you lifelessly wait out the end of another miserable work night then I'm not sure there's all that much you won't let someone do in denying you dignity. TheAthletic- The first player Altman ever signed to a contract as GM was Kyle Korver. It was a three-year, $22 million deal inked in July of 2017, but it came with an understanding: If LeBron were to leave, the Cavs would either trade Korver or buy him out of the deal so he could move his family to his next team during the summer. So when LeBron left July 1 for the Lakers, Korver asked for the Cavs to move him. They refused because, they told him, they wanted him to play and for the team to try and win. To be fair, in the event of a Korver trade they would want maximum value in return, like a first-round pick. Anyway, the same basic message of competing now was communicated to Kevin Love before he agreed to a four-year, $120 million extension and to rest of the returning players.
------ An understanding? AN UNDERSTANDING?! Imagine thinking some vague implication carries power in the business world of professional sports? What a life that must be to walk around thinking "...but...but...but...you said you would!" is a line of reasoning that's capable of getting through to NBA executives. To be honest, I'm a bit jealous of the naivety, as I'm far too aware of my illiteracy in the language of contracts to try to speak it in good conscience. All I know is that I know absolutely nothing other than the fact that a "promise" made in negotiations is about as binding as a promise ring gifted in middle school. Seriously, there are 7th graders walking around wearing the type of jewelry found at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box whose two week old relationships have as much of a defined future as Kyle Korver's tenure in Cleveland did when he signed on the dotted line. As if the Cavaliers don't have enough problems as a dumpster fire of an organization that can only be saved from the purgatorial hell-scape that is NBA irrelevancy for stretches by the return of a savior whose regional loyalty is tied to something as silly as him happening to be conceived nearby. We're really going to toss in "they also don't keep their word 100% of the time!" on top of the dirty laundry list of ways in which they are incompetent? Come on. Now we're just taking liberties while they remain out-to-lunch as a mess that looks a hell of a lot hotter sans LeBron. Antics And All, Michael Thomas Proved On Sunday That He's A Special, Special Kind Of Savage11/5/2018
Michael Thomas is a lot of things. He's dramatic. He can be overly sensitive. He's loud and proud in a way that can surely be seen as showy. In short, no matter how many times the comparison has lazily been drawn, for far more better than worse, the one thing he is most certainly not is Marques Colston. In a way that isn't all that uncommon and/or shouldn't be all that unexpected of athletes that have dedicated their lives to beating the best of the best when they line up face-to-face across from them, Michael Thomas both loves the attention and takes it extremely personally when he doesn't get it. Whether or not that's the most admirable of attributes is inconsequential, because the way in which is manifests itself on the field is anything but detrimental to a team that feeds off the pompousness of his play. Simply put, who the Saints' brand spankin' new holder of the franchise record for receiving yards in a game is as a person makes him who he is as a player, and who he is as a player is a special, special kind of savage that is loved unconditionally in his own locker room. The term "diva" gets thrown around anytime a skill position player acts in vain, but there's a huge difference in being self-assured and selfish. The latter, the best wide receiver of the Sean Payton era is not, as you'll notice no difference in his disposition whether he's racking up 6 targets or 12 catches. Look no further than Alvin Kamara, a player with which he's competing for touches, flashing Michael Thomas' patented flex after 2-3 of the 12 catches that his teammate reeled in on a record setting night for proof that a little bit of arrogance sits well on a sideline with which the bravado very much spills from the top on down. With Sean Payton being the biggest repeat offender, the current culture in New Orleans is one that tightropes the thin line between cocky and confident, and if Michael Thomas is going to continue catching 90% of everything that's thrown his way then no one whose job could actually be made more difficult by his antics are going to criticize him for taking the occasional step out of bounds. Now, I was of the opinion that Michael Thomas owed Reggie Bush an apology for the over-the-top and childish way in which he responded to what was a completely meaningless air-filler of a wide receiver ranking. However, after yesterday evening, I think it's more than fair to say that an apology should also be coming from the other direction, as the aggrieved party made a bulletproof case that his claim to Top 5 wideout status is airtight. Michael Thomas ate, and ate, and ate, and then he ate some more. And when he was finally done chewing up and spitting out Marcus Peters (who is ironically an example of narcissism actually gone wrong), it was a goddamn miracle there wasn't a line of regurgitation left lying in his wake to an end zone in which a flip phone was both strategically and sentimentally placed. So yeah, if there is a former Saints' player with which Michael Thomas' personality compares then it's the one he paid tribute to with a celebration that had multiple generations of the Who Dat Nation hooting and hollering like it was a goddamn family reunion. That personality may have a drawn an otherwise unnecessary 15 yard penalty on a kickoff in the late stages of a relatively close, season-defining game. However, the touchdown that preceded it also defined the season-defining game, so if you don't think a hat-tip to Joe Horn motivated every member of a team that had it's foot placed firmly on the gas by Michael Thomas then you should probably change your adult diaper, as it's clear to the entire sports' world that you have a big old dump in your pants. If, by some chance, those 15 yards ended up mattering then the man whose accurately come to be known as 'Can't Guard Mike' would be the first person lined up to make up for them by proving his twitter @ true for the umpteenth time. Above all else, he's a ruthless competitor that takes every perceived slight out on opposing cornerbacks that dare to challenge him physically, and he's a leader for a Saints' team whose collective attitude makes their definition of leadership slightly different than that of those with antiquated sensibilities. By that, I mean that your mildly racist grandfather (or his favorite sports radio host) that still uses the type of cell phone that Michael Thomas hid under the padding of the goalpost 10 hours earlier probably won't like them. Which is fine, because - from one man to the next - they love, appreciate, and play for each other...peerless, peacocking pass catchers and all. To imply Michael Thomas is not a team player is to have a fundamental misunderstanding of the team he plays for, as the success of this iteration of the New Orleans Saints comes packaged in a certain level of swag. So throw the damn flag, because they'll do what it takes and more to overcome a flipped phone.
As much as there is left to do throughout the second half of what has all the promise of a Super Bowl caliber season, there's not all that much to say about a team that has silenced any and all of the stereotypes. At home or on the road, inside or outside, with offense or with defense, from ahead or from behind, with momentum or against it, there's nothing "same old" about a Saints' team whose distaste for defeat reads like a Dr. Seuss excerpt. The saying "any given Sunday" exists for a reason (and it's not just to push parity for profit), as the NFL is as fickle a league as there is in professional sports. That being said, for this week, if only for this week, the NFC belongs to New Orleans and their dues have been paid in full. An iteration of the Rams that was undefeated and is vastly superior to the one that took the Saints to task last season did exactly what it is that the Rams do in being an offensive juggernaut that schemes weekly heists of their opponent's competitive spirit, and the Saints simply did the same...but better. Whether it was a Mark Ingram fumble or a Jared Goff interception, both teams got a turnover out of defenses whose effectiveness are dependent on creating the occasional disaster, but only one of those teams made quick work of the short field they received in return. Whether it was a fake field goal or a 4th down conversion attempt, both teams got aggressive, but only one of those teams was successful in turning their trickery into a fresh set of downs. Both teams had the ball in the final minutes with a chance to win, and only one of those teams, quite literally, dialed up a dagger to the heart of the opposing defense. Jared Goff went tit-for-tat with Drew Brees, but when the pressure got turned to a ten there was no questioning who was left slinging gems. Judging from the league-wide praise he's rightfully received, Sean McVay has set the standard for offensive excellence in the NFL...and he had the bar raised on him like a jar of cookies before dinner-time by an elder who deserves that same type of respect after clearing the path for such progressive game-planning. Much to the detriment of the health of the Who Dat Nation's collective heart, it wasn't by as monstrous a margin as existed at halftime. However, blowing the entirety of a 21 point lead - more so through momentum than mindset - and still putting the plays together in crunch time says so much more about a Saints' team than using the constant drip of that SuperDome swagger to familiarly front-run their way to an easy victory. New Orleans took a counter punch from one of the few heavyweights that can match their power, and - without hesitancy - they peeled themselves off the mat and jabbed their way to a knockout blow of their own. Whether they came from expected sources like Michael Thomas and Alvin Kamara, or the most unexpected of sources like last week's largely ironic Defensive Player of The Week in P.J. Williams, the Saints made a monopoly of the plays when they mattered most. The Rams have the far and away the highest second half point differential in the NFL, and yet they weren't the team that was absolute money in paying their mortgage on a continued ownership of the 4th quarter. Whether it be offense (massive shoutout to the offensive line for holding the most prominent of pass rush without a sack), defense (Todd who?), or special teams (Wil Lutz is straight cash homie), there is simply a resilience that exists through the entirety of a roster that's not without weakness, but is without doubt. The Saints are winning in a variety of ways with a level of confidence that somehow appears more distinct than it did during last year's 8-game win streak, and that is no small feat. So yeah, it's still only Week 9, but today is a 'Who Dat' holiday as Michael Thomas' nostalgic house call answered any questions that might have remained about the winners of six straight before they made it seventh straight at the expense of what was seen as the best team in the NFL...
I suppose it's par for what's become a bumpy course to start the season that reading through the list of moves made in response to it elicits a somewhat manic set of emotions. Therefore, let's cut through the crap and get down to the feeling that best encapsulates each players' demotion or promotion... Pavel Zacha: Disappointed, which is not be confused with angry. It may have been a half dozen or so games ago when he was playing a productive brand of puck despite being allergic to putting it in the net. The way in which Marcus Johansson and Pavel Zacha gelled in the early going was basically the best case scenario realizing itself, but - as is the case with a kid who wears his confidence both in his body language and on the tape of his stick - each passing night in which he didn't grace the scoresheet resulted in a more passive version of a player who struggles with the game being played in his head more so than the game being played on the ice. John Hynes made himself abundantly clear on Behind The Glass, you don't have to keep a running tally like Taylor Hall, but to stay in the lineup - especially as a 2nd line center - you need to have a handful of moments throughout each game in which you're creating your own offense. In a way that's become all-too-familiar, Pavel Zacha struggled in doing just that, so hopefully some time in Binghamton will do him good. Brett Seney: Ecstatic. No offense meant to Kevin Rooney, who is too "meh" of a move to deserve its own paragraph, but - in theory - Brett Seney is the type of prospect that fits this team and system perfectly. I don't know that the term 'piss-ant' can be considered a compliment, but - given his size, skill set, attitude - I think it fits and I mean that fondly. By all accounts, he's feisty, tenacious, and an absolutely prick to play against. We will see how that translates for a 6th round pick at the NHL level, but you don't need to squint too hard to see the combination of him and Blake Coleman agitating the hell out of the opposition. Kurtis Gabriel: Disgusted, and - if I'm also speaking for my intelligence - then insulted. I don't get it. I don't like it. And as much of a John Hynes apologist as I am, nothing he can say will make me change my mind. Consider this, a professional production team edited together scenes with the main goal of making Kurtis Gabriel look like a sympathetic figure, and all it made me do was finally think long and hard about cutting the cord...literally. For a team that can't stay out of the box and a 4th line that can't stay out of its own way, I don't see how he helps anything, at anytime or anywhere. His "best" "skill" is instigation, and - in case you forgot - there's a two minute timeout that comes attached to that. I'm sure he's a nice, hard-working guy and all, but I can already taste the vomit in the back of my throat and we're still minutes away from seeing how he looks in a New Jersey Devils' jersey when it matters. Honestly, his insertion into a lineup that's struggled getting depth scoring as of late is a forehead slap waiting to happen, as I'd much rather he be sitting next to me on my couch punching me in the face then waiting to be deployed by John Hynes as the type of big dumb animal that I could have sworn went extinct due survival of the skill...est(?).
And, the (now deleted) response... Nope. Can't do it. Won't do it. Not choosing sides between a valued member of the Super Bowl Saints when his draft selection aided in drastically turning around an absolute tire fire of a franchise when New Orleans needed it the most and the cutthroat competitor who is helping to keep Drew Brees young more than a decade later. I don't care if one is the equivalent of the uncle I see once every 3-5 years and the other is the equivalent of the brother I spend three hours riding an emotional rollercoaster with every Sunday. Unless something unexpected happens, both Reggie Bush and Michael Thomas are residents of the Who Dat Nation for life. Therefore, like it or not, they are family. That doesn't mean they can't fight over incredibly stupid shit, but it does mean that when they do it's best to just sip your drink and stay the hell out of it as they figure things out amongst themselves. Now, if I were to break this down, I'd say that Reggie Bush breached protocol. He had to go full-talking head, as that's his job, but if you're going to speak even mildly ill of a Saints' player in the name of objectivity then you better make damn sure you're not objectively wrong. Personally, I don't put any stock into useless, time-killing talking points, but I can see why Michael Thomas would, as putting two NFC South receivers over a man whose hands are statistically and historically sticky is just disrespectful. That, of course, probably shouldn't have led to Michael Thomas taking things way too far in literally Kardashianing up the conversation, but we're talking about a player whose physicality is fueled by even the smallest of perceived slights. I have no insight on this, but I wouldn't be surprised if the argument that resulted in his agent dropping him began when he found out his money man passed him over in the first round of a fantasy draft...
His patented #shhhhh hashtag is starting to seem a bit ironic, but you don't attack the football like it's a loaf of bread during The Great Depression by not thinking that everyone who considers you any less than the best pass catcher on the planet is sullying your good name. He's very much willed his twitter @ into the truth by mercilessly seeking out motivation, so I'm not going to start pissing on his personal process now. Though, deleted or not, it would be both nice if he didn't respond to harmless jabs by balling up his twitter fingers to deliver illogical low blows and kept things out of the bedroom when it came to responding to the random, meaningless rankings of someone he hopes to eventually join in Saints' lore. All in all, things are currently too damn sunny in Saints' land to be talking about this petty bullshit, so the boys need to clank glasses and let bygones be bygones so all generations of the Who Dat Nation can enjoy the rest of what has all the somewhat familiar makings of a special season.
Well if that's not the most cockamamie Catholic bullshit you've ever heard in your goddamn life then...well...you've probably been to a Catholic church at some point in your life. Not to turn this into a full-blown takedown of organized religion, when it's really just a full-blown takedown of an idiotic opinion from someone who takes pride in serving as a spiritual figure in sports. However, he had to learn that stubbornness from somewhere, and an ancient scripture that hasn't redefined right from wrong in the last however many thousands of years seems like a logical culprit. No offense to the father, the son, or the holy spirit, but the "someone decided on it and therefore it should remain irrefutable regardless of circumstance" take is a little too heavy-handed in its holiness for my liking. To be clear, I understand his point. The angry internet mob does get its way far too often, but - just as the angry internet mob isn't always right - the angry internet mob isn't always wrong. Whatever passage in which Tim Tebow read that justice takes a backseat to conviction, even if said conviction is unjust, is not one that I have any interest in skimming through. Sorry, but an otherwise healthy student-athlete dying from dangerous drill instruction while under the "supervision" of those occupationally entrusted with his well-being is a weeeee bit different than someone both loosely and libelously connecting Greg Schiano to a ring of child molestation because they didn't like him as a coach. Maryland made an objectively horrible choice that the Mayor, their President, (some of) their players, their student body, and basically anyone else with a functioning brain wholeheartedly disagreed with. Not going back on it wouldn't have been some brave stance against the turmoil found on Twitter. It would have been doubling-down on a dumbass decision that - his words, not mine - "spit in the face" of a father that lost his son forever due to the negligence of a football coach that lost control of his program. DJ Durkin had blood on his hands that was never, in a million years, going to be fully cleansed from either Maryland or its athletic department if his reinstatement held up and he was once again given free reign in molding young minds. If the brain-dead Board Of Regents that couldn't initially see anything other than dollar signs when they handed down their decision was capable of healing the sick with their touch then we wouldn't be having this discussion. Therefore, at risk of hurting Tim Tebow's feelings by saying he misinterpreted the virtues of his Biblical bullshit, I must say that there is less than zero reasons to treat the priorities of powerful authority types as undeniably altruistic. Or, as a player who would have had to look DJ Durkin in the face daily best put it, "it's never the wrong time to do what's right", even if Maryland did put that theory to the test...
I take zero umbrage with any discouraging word offered to the current state of a Raiders' roster that has been kept so far in the dark by their Head Coach that they very well may have thought yesterday was Wednesday until the Thursday Night Football crew showed up. If you want to criticize Jon Gruden for being a defiantly egotistical blowhard while basically sitting blindfolded in the driver's seat of an absolute beater of a 1-7 team that was made to look like it was better suited to play football with flags around their waist by a team that became 2-7 at their expense, by any and all means. He has more than earned every ounce of venomous vitriol coming his way by sounding like an delusionally optimistic internet troll almost every time he speaks publicly...
That said, you have to give credit where it's due. Whether it was by sheer incompetence, a woefully defeatist attitude, or the type of effort you'd expect at a walkthrough, Jon Gruden did what everyone assumed he couldn't (after he put everyone under-25 on the trading block) by getting the absolute most out of a unproven young player. That unproven young player, quite obviously, wasn't under his supervision, but without the ruinous return of Chucky we're probably not strapping silly hats to our heads in celebrating the coming out party of...::double-checks name of likely-soon-to-be-forgetten-shooting-star-in -the-night-sky::...Nick Mullens.
Full credit goes to a kid who, by all accounts, worked his ass off, day-in and day-out over the course of multiple seasons, in hopes of taking advantage of a rare opportunity that just as easily, if not more easily, could have never come his way. The NFL has this strange way of making it so that very few storylines that play out over the course of their season are of the feel-good variety, and that's especially true when the plot is as common as "previously unknown quarterback gets desperately forced into action for a bad team who happens to be playing in primetime". Nick Mullens totally rewrote a script we've watched play out, with one eye open, hundreds of humdrum times, and in doing so he somehow got our eyes to stick to the television on which he lived out his dream...
With the help of an antagonist that was more village idiot than villain, he became the incredibly rare, previously unknown protagonist of a passer capable of making a terrible, no good, very bad blowout of a Thursday Night Football contest worth watching. To that, a hat must be tipped, as it was basically the culmination of a real life parable that even pros (below) and eternal pessimists can get behind. The perfect storm of a Raiders' team that quit and a back-up quarterback that would never even consider doing so resulted in a reverent rainbow of a performance that almost made you fight back tears of joy right along with Nick Mullens.
Motivation. If nothing else, it's the one thing a Devils' team that got embarrassed and emasculated in Tampa Bay absolutely, positively should have had going for them. Throw in the fact that they were supposedly "playing for" a goaltender who had finally overcome offseason tail reattachment surgery after working it off in relief throughout a playoff series that was as short as the statement he successfully made throughout it, and the well of excuses they have to go to for another uninspired performance becomes bone dry. John Hynes routinely preaches being a "self starter", but players that haven't put together a single win in an NHL building other than their own shouldn't exactly have had to rub two sticks together inside their stall to get a fire going under their ass last night. Of course, there's always ebbs and flows throughout any 82 game schedule, but the Devils starting off their first extensive road trip of a season that's still young relatively to the rest of the league shouldn't have them looking like they've grown tired of putting in the effort necessary to make up for an average level of skill. It's not that the losses are piling up and erasing what was a bullish sprint out of the gates, but rather how and why those losses are piling up. Occasionally you're going to get humbled by some of the more complete rosters in the league, as was the case against the Lightning, but New Jersey got put on their heels like they were walking a plank by an inferior team in Detroit. The Red Wings outworked, out-skated, and...well...out-Devils'd the Devils. Assuming Little Ceasar himself isn't in charge of ice maintenance at the arena that's named after him, they looked like they were trying to manually juice goals out of their sticks while doing so. However, it's not them having "one of those nights" that's most concerning, but rather the lack of urgency in battling through it. Whether they were winning or losses in bunches last season, the Devils were pretty consistent in being a pain in the ass to play against. Unfortunately, while the inclination to go streaking has apparently carried over into them looking nudely vulnerable for stretches, being non-circumstantially competitive has not. Teams that are difficult to play against don't repeatedly give up third period leads. Teams that are difficult to play against don't repeatedly take untimely penalties. Teams that are difficult to play against may get beat, but they don't beat themselves. Teams that are difficult to play against don't look like a shell of themselves on the road. All those things happened last night. Whether it be sitting in the box immediately after giving up a PPG or sitting in the box immediately after scoring a go-ahead PPG in the third, the Devils are finally being scolded for a defeatist lack of discipline. The most careless pass of Will Butcher's career stands out because it led to the unofficial game-winning, shorthanded goal, but it's only the most egregious example of the self-destructive ways in which they've costing themselves points in arenas in which those points are harder to come by.
John Hynes, as per usual, is right. It's up to the players - who are professionals, mind you - to find whatever confidence they might have lost over the last week and a half, and playing the way they fully embraced in earning a playoff spot last year is the most tried and true way to do so. If you look up and down the roster, there are definitely some problem areas (2nd line uselessness, a thrown together 4th line), but a brighter light gets shown on those problem areas when you start deviating from a system that makes everyone look better. Those first four games weren't anymore of an aberration than the last six have been, so it's both disingenuous and premature to say that they don't currently have the horses to place in the playoff race at this point. They just need to get back to running together in lockstep, because the Devils are exponentially better as a team than they are as talents. Thus, when they don't play like the former it becomes harder to see the latter. ------- We're talking in baby steps, because Cory Schneider should be somewhat nurtured in his return to NHL action, but I feel comfortable in saying he made it out of the crib last night. The start was predictably rough as, if not for a fortuitous whistle, the first relatively pedestrian puck he "stopped" probably should have resulted in the first bad goal he let up, and him being two inches off the goal line while slow to the one-timer that breezed right past him was nearly as discouraging. That said, he definitely appeared to find his footing as the game progressed. He didn't look like it was his first appearance of the season for the last 45 minutes or so, and that's about as much as you could have asked for from a guy that gave his team more than enough of a chance to get a win for him while still getting acclimated. They are the easiest things to blame in times of crisis, but - much like the coaching - goaltending has most certainly not been the problem as to late.
Ah yes, because if there is a person that has the best interests of a team and it's absolute thoroughbred of a workhorse running back in mind, it's the man that's been entrusted by their volatile division rival to help hold them in check throughout the last handful of years. I'm not saying that James Connor hasn't been as great of a player in Bell's prolonged absence as he has been a story in having kicked cancer's ass. However, let's just say that they don't call his biggest supporter in Baltimore 'Wink' for nothing. That overly simplified analysis of the dispute between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Le'Veon Bell was nothing more than an attempt at giving the two sides an extra nudge-nudge apart, not that either party even really needs it at this point. To be fair, if you're going the "numbers never lie" route then James Connor has been an improvement in the Steelers' backfield...
To be even more fair, when it comes to who they'd prefer to face off against in what should be a tightly contested game that could eventually have massive postseason implications, defensive coordinators definitely do lie. Personally, I consider it to be a point taken, as I don't think there's a sizable difference in the Steelers' offensive capabilities with or without Le'Veon Bell in the lineup. That's definitely a huge part of the reason why he's chilling on a jet ski waiting for his superstar skill-set to get properly reimbursed before the tread on his tires wears thin, as opposed to watching the ink dry on a massive extension. What's not the reason, however, is that Pittsburgh thinks they've currently got a superior player taking his snaps. Though I would love to take a close look at Wink Martindale's eyelids and pupils while be tells a polygraph machine that he'd rather game-plan against Le'Veon Bell than James Connor the week ahead of a road playoff game. Credit To JuJu Smith-Schuster For Dressing Up As #19 From The Pittsburgh Steelers For Halloween11/1/2018
Assuming there is "no hiding in plain sight" for the type of athletic specimen capable of filling out ever fiber of a game-ready NFL uniform, I've got to tip my cap to JuJu Smith-Schuster. He's shown a proclivity to being a man of the people before with his social media antics that soon followed his trusty bicycle being stolen last season, so affability and availability from a young player whose proven to have the personality of a big kid isn't a huge surprise. Still, choosing to spend the one night in which he could easily go about his business undetected drawing the direct attention of a bunch of rambunctious children hopped up on kiddy cocaine is next level in terms of being fan-friendly. His costume definitely lacked both effort and creativity. However, it undoubtedly more than made up for that by making him unmistakable to the cracked out little cretins that were lucky enough to have their Halloween made more special by running into the most rare of beings, a Steelers' star who is not only sufferable but also likable, on a night devoted to rare beings.
------- I'll be honest with you, regardless of the source, it's refreshing to read a nuanced and (pun intended) calculated take on advanced analytics and their usefulness in coaching professional sports. While I look at just about half of the graphs and charts that get disseminated with the hopeless intensity of a far-sighted third grader trying to stare his way into solving a magic eye poster, I understand that they can be very chatty in telling people smarter than myself what it is that they are actually watching. They aren't the end all, be all of relating or relaying a message to the inherently emotional beings that are professional athletes, but they can definitely help craft that message. Unfortunately, as is the case with just about everything nowadays, the numerical study of sports has largely become something that people either loathe or love, as opposed to facts that can/should be paired with feelings. Now, the idea that said source happens to be the first time NHL head coach tasked with continuing what he started in turning around a proud franchise that finally fell on hard times should make that answer all the more exhilarating to each and every Devils' fan. Never mind the current state of a team that got both humbled and embarrassed in Tampa Bay, because - win or lose - they've undoubtedly got the right type of open-minded attitude behind their bench. John Hynes has already proved his worth (and then some) as a mentally in-tune motivator of young men, but him both understanding and appreciating math basically makes him the coaching equivalent of the type of miraculous mixed-breed that would make a dog-lover mortgage their house. To the dismay of those that have dug their heels in on treating underlying statistics like gospel, you can't simply coach hockey with a calculator. On the other hand, to the dismay of those that treat their belly like a crystal ball, you can't simply coach hockey with your gut. That answer above was a rarely seen rational take that did the unthinkable by taking into account both the sums and subtleties of a sport as covertly complex as hockey. Personally, I couldn't be made any more comfortable by the quoted individual being the man with which my emotional investment has been made, as John Hynes isn't just doing his homework, but also putting its purpose into one hell of a practice.
Obviously if I were the adult man at the ass end of that unprompted parent-to-child-like scolding, I might have a thing or two to say about having my posture overanalyzed by a first year NFL Head Coach with an unkempt pubic beard. Not that it ever really bothered me, but I'm pretty sure Matt Patricia only learned that a hat could be worn with its bill facing forward about ten minutes before that press conference started, so him offering the type of criticism you'd expect from someone who views a cap worn indoors as a sin of social etiquette is, at the very least, extremely off-brand. I've never had the "pleasure" of watching the Lions' Head Coach eat, but I'd bet a dozen to anyone's dime that his elbows have their own saved seats on the table, so an anal retentive attitude towards the general disposition of a slouching journalist is a pretty perplexing priority. That said, the hypocritical nature of a mangy Bill Belichick disciple demanding a Sunday sermon-esque level of professionalism isn't as much a sign of a lack of self awareness as it is an example of football coaches thriving on the mantra of "do as I say, not as I do". Matt Patricia would be a bushwhacker and a personal stylist away from being able to critique a work associate's appearance in almost any other profession, but he's the captain when the ship is an NFL-authorized podium. Therefore, you will batten down the hatches of your presence before he feels obliged to offer up an answer to your extremely fair question. Now, of course, this was probably just a deflection technique to avoid talking about how his organization called it quits on contending this season by trading their most versatile offensive weapon in Golden Tate for a future asset while merely a game out of first place in their division (not a terrible decision, for the record). Still, it was also a reminder that professional football coaches have too much on their plate to worry about following all the unwritten rules that they conveniently decide are worthy of being upheld at random times. A Day Late And A Whole Lot Of Respect Short, Maryland Was Finally Pressured Into Firing DJ Durkin11/1/2018
The truth of the matter is that we probably don't need to outline just how moronic it is for an institution of higher learning to not see the writing on the wall - or more accurately, the engraving on the tombstone - when it came time to make a decision on the future of a football program that could only be salvaged by one possible solution. I mean, I'm going to do it anyway, because Maryland's Board of Regents, which I assume to be a fancy name for a round table of old white men with an intricate knowledge of finance and a loose understanding of the state of the internet, deserves to have their stupidity summarized. Still, technically speaking, you don't really need me to tell you that thinking you could casually reinstate someone whose culture, by the admission of the school President, was complicit in an otherwise healthy teenager dying on his watch without the sports' world losing its collective mind is, in two words, batshit crazy. We're talking about an institution to which families pay tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of dollars for their children to be taught how to best maximize their potential as future professionals, and the people making its executive decisions couldn't even foresee the most blatantly obvious of backlash because they are...wait for it...some combination of dumb and cheap. How's that for the type of irony that will make a parent rue the day that they put six figures worth of faith in an establishment that confuses its ass and its elbow when given the clear-cut choice between right and wrong? Jordan McNair didn't tragically die playing an inherently dangerous game like football. Jordan McNair didn't even tragically die practicing an inherently game like football. Jordan McNair died having been run one step short of six into the ground in preparation for practice before those ruthlessly drill instructing "amateur" athletes basically stole his last breath with their incompetence. Jordan McNair was essentially conditioned into a casket, and those entrusted with his safety basically stumbled into slamming it shut. How does anyone, never mind a group that's can now oxymoronically be considered a brain trust for a prominent state university, misread how society as a whole is going to treat that story? Floyd Mayweather thinks college is just a place that young adults gather to experiment with substance abuse while watching his fights, and even his illiterate ass could have stuttered his way through reading this situation better than Maryland did. The message attached to reinstating a mediocre football coach (not that that part should matter, but it definitely makes it less explicable) like DJ Durkin after his supervision, or lack thereof, led to the loss of an innocent life before it even really got started is not one that's lost in translation. However, I not only feel like we're speaking a different language than Maryland's Board of Regents, but also existing in an entirely different world.
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